


don't beat your head, dry your eyes (from the dark side we can see a glow of something bright)

by galacticdrift (Ancalime)



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: M/M, Multi, s2 spoilers, ship ALL the ZR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ancalime/pseuds/galacticdrift
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, this got a little out of hand. Simon/Sam/Eugene, post-S1, pre-S2. Let's call this a...divergence from canon, because even setting aside the question of shipping, I don't think this whole plot even fits in the span of time between S1M23 and S2M1.</p><p>(Title from Dave Matthews Band, and you can all judge me as hard as you like, I don't care. :D)</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't beat your head, dry your eyes (from the dark side we can see a glow of something bright)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustPlainJennie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustPlainJennie/gifts).



Simon's grieving and upset and _beyond_  tired, and just trying to blow off some steam when he finally snipes back after another of Eugene's comments during a search & recovery run.

"Hey, Roman. You think Eugene would like me better if I gave him a blow job?"

"There's got to be _something_  your mouth is good for, Runner Three." The acid in Eugene's tone could etch steel. "At least it would get you to _shut up_  for once."

Simon trips over a branch and nearly face-plants in the underbrush. Though he'll sleep with basically anyone that's not a _complete_  douchenozzle at least once, Eugene had quite frankly been close enough that he'd never really taken the idea for a test-drive, and now that he does, it's. Distracting.

Amber sends them both to radio time-out and handles the rest of the run without addressing Simon at all or letting Eugene get a word in edgewise. Simon catches sight of Gene crossing the courtyard as he and Roman come back in the gates of New Canton, and every line of his body speaks volumes of anger and frustration. Simon thinks about unraveling that knot of emotions, one inch of skin at a time, and goes to find Sam.

Whatever's going on between him and Sam is pretty light, Simon knows that -- if Runner Five ever so much as batted an eyelash at Sam, that guy would be gone in a flash. And, fine, it _did_  technically begin because of alcohol and a game of "Truth or Dare," but Sam's the one who came back two days later, beet red, stammering about bisexuality and sexual experience, so Simon figures he can't be the only one who's willing to keep it up.

Heh. Keep it up.

Anyway, just because Simon will sleep with almost anyone doesn't mean he doesn't know better than to make the moves on someone before checking with the person he's already occasionally banging.

"Even for me, this is gonna sound a little weird," he says, and it does when he explains it. Sam's a little confused and not wild about the idea, understandably, but he's as aware of the level of commitment between them as Simon is, and he's also not blind. He's seen how Eugene is running himself into the ground hell-bent on finding Jack -- or more realistically, whatever's left of Jack (and _there's_  a thought that sticks in the back of Simon's throat).

Once that's settled, all Simon has to do is bring it up again with Eugene. It's another run with Roman and Amber, who groan in unison, but all Simon hears from Eugene is a harsh exhale and thud-rattle as he kicks the desk, or slams his fist on it, or something.

He starts flirting harder at Eugene than he ever had with Jack, dropping constant hints about when he'd be free, inserting double or triple entendres into every conversation, and flat-out propositioning him at least once a day. When Eugene finally storms -- as much as a one-legged man _can_  storm, which it turns out is a pretty respectable amount -- into the barracks looking for him one day, Simon's just about given up on his plan working, which is why Eugene throws the door open on him and Sam _in_ very _flagrante delicto_.

And that's fit to make Eugene explode, Simon can see, watching his face twist and his skin flush a shade of red he didn't think was possible. He scoots back up Sam's body and kisses him, quick, asking him to give them some privacy, and Sam skedaddles with clothes in hand.

"What the hell is _wrong_  with you?" Simon suspects they can hear Eugene yelling all the way back at Abel. "You've been hitting on me for _days_  and-- the whole time-- you and Sam--"

"Not the whole time, no. I did take breaks to eat and sleep, which is more than I can say for you, old bean." Simon sits cross-legged on the cot and leans back against the wall, arms folded. He refuses to be embarrassed about his nakedness now when he aspires to get Eugene in the same state soon. Before Eugene can build up a head of steam, Simon cuts him down, more sharply than he'd intended. "Gene, Sam knows what I've been doing, and why. We've talked about it -- again, unlike certain other people I could name, who haven't talked to anyone about anything of real substance and are clearly burying a mountain of feelings in a pretty shallow grave."

Eugene snarls. "Who I talk to about what is none of your goddamn--"

"You stop right there, Eugene Woods." Now Simon's the one getting angry. He stands up and stalks toward Eugene, glaring. "Don't you dare say it's none of my business when me and every other runner Abel has left has risked their life out there looking for everyone not yet confirmed dead, your stupid boyfriend included. Don't you _dare_  say you're in any kind of shape to be directing runners in the field when you can't even hobble across the _totally flat_  courtyard in a straight line because you're so tired. And let's not even get _started_  on how much danger you're willing to put us in by hoping to find Jack behind every single log and boulder."

Eugene opens his mouth and nothing comes out. His shoulders sag.

"We all want to get our people back, Gene, but you're not doing anyone any good like this."

"I just. Don't know what else to do." Eugene frowns, his gaze drifting off over Simon's shoulder. "If I sit down to eat, or rest, I-- it feels like I'm crawling out of my skin."

Eugene yelps when Simon slugs him in the shoulder, staggering backward, but Simon follows up by grabbing the front of his shirt in both hands and pulling him in until their faces mash together. It's not his best kiss, not by a long shot, but it has the right effect -- Eugene makes a choked noise and grabs his arm, fingers digging in with surprising strength.

"I don't understand. Why are you doing this?" When he pulls away he sounds utterly bewildered, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Simon tries to keep his focus on the right priorities for just a little longer. "I've been nothing but rude to you."

He tilts his head, brows crawling together. "Are you some kind of masochist?"

Simon has to laugh at that one. "One of the few things I'm not, actually. 'Why' is because you've been rude to me for all the wrong reasons, and I get that, I really do. I shouldn't have been flirting with Jack so much, I know, and now you're angry at everyone and I just happen to be a handy outlet for it since you were already in the habit of being angry at me."

He gives Eugene one rough shake. "Gene, you have friends out there who are worried about you. You can't slowly kill yourself like this."

Eugene nods, slowly, his eyes dropping -- and then he's turning red for an entirely different reason, and Simon remembers he's still naked. Eugene quickly brings his eyes back up to somewhere around Simon's neck, frowning. "And what about you? We're not friends."

"Oof, cold." Simon grins to take the edge off his words. "It's true we've never really been friends in the past, but I don't think that means we never could be friends in the future. And I'm a firm believer in the idea of a blowjob as a public service, in the right circumstances."

Now Eugene's eyes are definitely focusing on his lips. Simon licks them, not entirely for show. "And you think these are the right circumstances?"

"I think you're wound up tighter than a drum and a little stress relief really couldn't hurt." Simon starts walking the two of them backwards toward the bed, glancing down to make sure he's not overbalancing Eugene, who allows himself to be led with a dazed expression.

"Been thinking about it, haven't you?" Simon says, a wicked grin spreading across his face as they reach the cot and he turns them around. "Let me tell you, I'm not half bad at blowjobs. You can stand if you really want, but I recommend being somewhere you're not gonna fall over."

Gene drops down on the cot like all his strings have been cut and Simon follows him, kneeling over his thighs. Simon's hand splaying out over his stomach makes him flinch.

"All right, nice and easy." It's like talking to a skittish horse, more about the tone than the content, and Simon moves his hand in small, soothing circles until a different kind of shiver runs through Eugene.

Simon lets his hand smooth down Eugene's shirt and hover over his belt buckle before palming the bulge in his trousers. The gasp and squirm he gets in response is encouraging, and he flips open Gene's belt, then drags the zip down at a leisurely pace.

He tilts his head, grin going crooked. "You would be wearing tighty-whities."

"That's what the laundry bin had this week. Shut up and get on with it, if you're gong to." Eugene shoves at him, growling. Simon laughs, working Gene's trousers and pants down his hips until he can pull them off and toss them aside.

An offhand comment about Jack being a happy man makes it all the way to Simon's lips, but at the last moment he catches it, swallows it down and kisses the soft crease of skin where Gene's legs meet his body. In truth, Eugene's cock is pretty average, a bit on the shorter and thicker side perhaps, but nothing Simon hasn't seen or can't handle. He wraps his fingers around it and gives a few experimental pulls, long and slow. His own cock is starting to take an interest in the proceedings and he feels blood rushing south.

"'S good, but I thought you said blowjob, not handjob."

"Patience, you wanker." Simon squeezes gently.

"Strictly speaking I think you're the wanker in this situation," Gene manages on the tail end of a gasp, his fingers tightening in the blankets.

"Does that make you the wankee? That sounds more like you're a yankee, but from Canada or something, though." Simon can _hear_  Eugene roll his eyes; he makes a noise of disgust and falls back on the cot. That's when Simon ducks his head and licks a long stripe up the underside of Eugene's cock.

Eugene yelps and grabs a handful of his hair and after that it's smooth sailing. Simon _is_  talented at this, the result of a lot of practice, and as much as he really does think it'll be good for Eugene, it's also good for him -- to be able to reassure himself with his hands and eyes that someone's real, and safe, and still capable of laughter and pleasure.

Learning the preferences of someone new is always interesting, too. Where Sam tends to prefer it when Simon holds his hips down and goes to town, Eugene is having none of that. He guides Simon or holds him in place with the hand fisted in his hair, and is just as much fucking Simon's mouth as Simon is going down on him.

When Eugene comes, he grits his teeth, and if Simon thinks he might be biting down on another man's name, well, his nan taught him better than to notice such things. His own cock is hard and leaking, and he works at it with one hand while he watches Eugene relax, his breathing slowing and muscles loosening. By the time Eugene looks down at him and opens his mouth, Simon's licking his fingers, and Eugene doesn't manage to say anything coherent at all.

It does, somehow, seem to help. Eugene's sharp edges are a little blunted, and he spends a tiny bit more time taking care of basic necessities like eating and sleeping. When Simon notices him starting to shut down again, he turns the innuendo back up until Gene shows up on his proverbial doorstop like a proverbial stray cat. It's always blowjobs or handjobs, no cuddling, no kissing. For all that, though, Eugene at least takes a more active interest in getting Simon off after the first time, so it's not like it's any kind of hardship.

Anyway, Simon's getting plenty of cuddling from Sam, who helps him keep an eye on Eugene. This isn't Simon's first ride on the multiple-partners merry-go-round, but he's surprised at how well Sam is dealing with it. He offers to break it off with one or the other of them, but Sam just shakes his head, a small frown crossing his face.

Sam's reaction makes it only slightly less of a surprise when Simon's walking by the New Canton comm station one day and spots Sam leaning in to kiss Gene at the doorway. Gene's eyebrows have climbed so high they're about to merge with his hairline and Simon watches his free hand flap in the air before landing on Sam's shoulder.

"So what's your plan with Eugene?" Simon shovels another spoonful of stew in his mouth. Sam glances up at him, instantly hesitant, but Simon waves his hand in a dismissing motion and offers up a lopsided smile.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just curious."

Sam heaves a sigh. "I'm not sure. I didn't plan anything, really. He just looked so sad, and I thought since you and I are together, kind of, and you and he are together, kind of, I might as well just, in case there's anything I can do for him..."

Sam trails off and Simon grins. "God, you're precious. You steal kisses and I give blowjobs, we're like some kind of sexy Dynamic Duo."

"I'm the Robin in the analogy, aren't I."

"Yeah."

Meanwhile, Evan's moved back to Abel already, so the four-man barrack room Simon was sharing with Sam, Evan, and Roman now might as well be his and Sam's alone, considering Roman hooked up with some New Canton resident and hardly ever sleeps in the runner barracks anymore.

This dance of uneven intimacies goes on for a while, and Simon's pretty content with it, all things considered. He, Sam, and Eugene are all getting laid on the regular, Eugene is looking less like a zombie and more like a functioning member of society, and Sam's gradually getting more confident and capable in the sack.

That's when Simon has a small mishap in the field -- the kind of "small mishap" that involves collecting one too many zombies on his tail, chasing him through the tumbledown alleys and streets of a small village a few kilometers away from New Canton. He doesn't get bitten, but it's by the narrowest of margins as he hurls himself through a hole in the side of a building. The rebar and concrete leave their mark, gouging at his shoulders and legs, and Simon hisses as he touches his fingers to the ripped cloth and flesh of his thigh.

"Sam, I'm making my way through the building but I don't think I can keep up a run. Got chewed up by that dive just now. Any chance you can send out another runner to help keep them off my tail as I come in?"

There's a moment of silence over the radio, then he hears Sam swallow. "I'll see what I can do, Runner Three. We're stretched a little thin today, so just-- come home as fast as you can."

"No way I can make it to Abel, but I'll see what I can do about getting to New Canton." Simon forces lightness into his voice and staggers on. He grabs the shirt he just picked up from a convenience store and rips long strips off, stopping to lean against the wall long enough to wrap up his leg as best he can. The blue shirt darkens to purple quicker than he'd like, and he pushes on.

He hears them before Sam's voice in his ear. "There's three coming around the wall to your right, Simon. Can you get over that fence at your ten o' clock? That should buy you some more time."

In response, Simon starts singing "Don't Fence Me In" under his breath. Getting up and over the fence takes longer than usual, and he half-collapses when he lands because his leg can't take the impact. He rolls back up to his knees, propping himself up on the hockey stick he'd brought from the armory.

"Runner Three, are you all right?" Sam sounds panicked.

"Just watch that first step, it's a doozy. I'm still going, Sam." Climbing the fence gains him enough of a head start that by the time the zoms are getting dangerously close again, he's just coming into range of New Canton's watchtowers. They pick off each one as he stumbles through the gate and heads straight for the medical wing.

The medic on shift, a standoffish man with wild gray hair, takes one look at him and points to the decontamination showers. His hand rests on the butt of his pistol. "Have you been bitten?"

"No bites, I'm clean. Just practicing my street parkour." Simon's already stripping off his clothes, leaving them in a pile outside the shower. "Decontamination shower" is perhaps a generous term for getting a bucket of lukewarm water dumped over his head and having to scrub down with a disinfecting solution that burns enough to make grown men cry even when they don't have open wounds, but New Canton has their protocols, and one of them is decon anytime you come in from a run with injuries that might have been exposed to the gray flu.

Simon dumps another bucket of water over his head afterward to rinse off, then grabs just his pants from the pile of clothes. His shirt and trousers are just about a total loss; if anyone could still make something useful from them, Simon wished them godspeed. He lowers himself onto the cot the medic indicated, and is in the middle of studiously trying not to watch as his leg got stitched up when Sam came bursting through the door.

"Simon! Are you all right?" Simon manages a smile.

"Should be good as new in a few days, right doc?" The medic glares at him, but then, the medic glares at everyone. Simon doesn't take it personally.

" _If_  the wounds didn't get infected. With _anything_." The medic ties off the stitches in his thigh and tackles the smaller gash in his shoulder next. Sam slides his hand into Simon's and Simon curls his fingers around it, staring off into the middle distance.

"Wouldn't I already be coughing, if I were going grey?" Simon isn't sure if he's asking more for his own benefit or for Sam's.

"Probably. You'll stay here for another hour so we can make sure you're not turning, then your friend there can get you back to your bunk. Come back if immediately there's any swelling or in three days otherwise; you'll be off the roster at least that long."

Simon makes a face, but Sam lets out a shaky laugh. "Could be a lot worse."

There've been hours more tense than that wait in the New Canton medical area in Simon's life -- though none before the outbreak -- but he's still relieved beyond words when the medic releases him and the only thing he wants to eat is bread.

Sam walks him back to the barracks, letting Simon lean on him and hobble as slowly as he wants to.

"I'll get you some food from the mess hall. You stay there are try not to pull your stitches."

"I had no idea you were such a mother hen, Sam Yao." Simon teases him, but he doesn't mind being mothered a little. His brushes with death aren't usually this close, and it's comforting to have someone nearby to hang on to.

They've both finished the dinner Sam brought back and Simon's laid himself down in Sam's lap to read a book when Eugene comes in, looking serious.

"I-- heard you were injured on a run today." Sam starts to shift, as if to get up and leave, but Simon stops him with a hand on his knee.

"'Tis but a scratch, as they say." That was the wrong line, Simon realizes as Eugene flinches. "Sorry. I meant less Shakespeare, more Monty Python."

Eugene laughs, but it's silent. Simon waves him over, putting on the most pleadingly hopeful puppy-dog eyes he knows how. "Come over here. Sam won't let me get up, but you can help test the weight limit of this cot while I read."

Eugene walks over and eases himself down on the edge of the cot. Simon immediately lifts up his legs (firmly suppressing a wince) and drapes them over Eugene's lap, trapping him there. "There you go, scoot back, you can lean against the wall -- here, take my pillow, I've got one already."

To illustrate, Simon pokes Sam, who pokes him back, in the injured shoulder. "We were worried about you, you know."

Simon cranes his head back to look up at him. "Oh, were you?"

It's Eugene who chimes in from the other end of the cot, sharing a look with Sam. "We were, actually."

"Oh." Simon glances back and forth between them, lips lifting into what he can tell is a sappy-looking smile. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Eugene nods, and Sam pats his shoulder.

"So." Eugene says. "What are you reading?" 

**Author's Note:**

> Simon, I'm sorry for making you sound like an American and/or fake Brit. Sam, I'm sorry I have NO IDEA how to write your voice sometimes. Eugene, I'm sorry you're so grumpy and confused. Just let Simon (and Sam) love you, bby.


End file.
